


City Lights and Coffee Plights

by FrenchBlue32



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Human, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character Death, Comfort/Angst, F/F, FACE Family, Female FACE Family, Flashbacks, Implied Female AmeRus, Implied Relationships, Introspection, Late Night Conversations, Late at Night, Light Angst, New York City, Siblings, Twins, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:09:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23479006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrenchBlue32/pseuds/FrenchBlue32
Summary: As per usual, Amelia is alone. New York City plays its appropriate background track of sirens and traffic to accompany her loneliness. She expects no one but the usual visitors, her memories and daydreams. The night diverts her expectations however, bringing a surprising, but not unwelcome visitor.
Relationships: Female America & Female Canada (Hetalia), Female America/Female Russia (Hetalia), Female England/Female France (Hetalia), Implied!Female America/Female Russia (Hetalia)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25





	City Lights and Coffee Plights

Amelia always sees the symptoms before it’s too late. She wonders how it doesn’t come apparent to her the moment she opens a Word document, and she can do nothing but stare at it.

First, it starts with Amelia thinking of nothing. Then, it’s shortly followed by her mindlessly fiddling with whatever her hand crawls towards. Sometimes, it’s a particular key on her keyboard she taps with no distinct rhythm. Sometimes, it’s a mechanical pencil she uses to perform hand tricks for an invisible audience. Sometimes, it’s the Captain America figurine she uses to project the power of flight from her imagination.

Regardless of her fidget object of choice, nothingness becomes boredom, and that boredom quickly turns into Amelia cradling her face with the palms of her hands as she realizes what’s happening.

Writer’s block.

Great.

More often than not, not even a beat passes before Amelia groans and lets out an expletive under her breath. Amelia lifts her lethargic body from her office chair, a creek releasing from being relieved of the tired weight Amelia’s body submits it to every day. She drags herself to her small kitchenette that’s nothing but a couple of steps from her tiny office space, yet it still feels like the miles she used to trek during summer camp with Madeline. As she reaches for the coffee pot, her mind wanders, having nothing better to do.

She thinks.

Well, she isn’t really capable of any coherent thought at the moment, but she does imagine. She imagines Madeline’s quiet chides of needing to break their unhealthy habits of drinking coffee in the late hours of the early morning, yet her sister will still go to the cupboards and pull out two mugs--the blue one for Amelia and the red one for Madeline--and a pair of unnecessarily, fancily-designed, Victorian coffee spoons gifted by their Aunt Rose.

_“If there’s anything Aunt Rose and Aunt Marianne both share, it’s the fear that one day we’ll overdose ourselves with the unholy amounts of caffeine we drink,” Madeline chuckled, as she then went to get the sugar and milk as well._

_There’s no real reason why that specific comment on that specific night is one of the ones Amelia remembers most clearly. Perhaps it wasn’t even a specific night at all, but the melding of a frequent topic of conversation they used to have about their adoptive, legal guardians._

_“Well, they can thank us for bringing them closer together then!”_

The cupboard is always noticeably vacant when Amelia feels like it shouldn’t be, especially during the countless moments where Amelia can’t quite fight the leery haze that encaptures her ability to stay present. She pulls out the blue mug. The red mug is lying in a box with many other important belongings, all of Madeline’s belongings.

_“Look at all the unnecessary plane models that you’ve built up, ‘Melia!”_

_“And look at all the annoying mini flower pots you’ve hoarded, Maddie!”_

_“What use do they even serve? You take them apart once and then never touch them again. Do you know how many random, little bits and parts I’ve found lying around the apartment?”_

_“What do you mean ‘what use do they even serve?’ They’re sooo versatile! First, you can take them apart and study them for scientific reasons, and then they can sit there and look pretty for the aesthetics! It’s not like your overabundance of red flower plots match any theme except for eye-bleeding reds!”_

_“Excuse you! They fit ‘my aesthetic’ perfectly compared to your mismatched, drab plane m_ _odels. At least they don’t take up so much space!”_

_“Well, my plane models fit ‘MY aesthetic’ perfectly compared to your army over there! You’ve literally seized the entire window shelf!”_

_They’d blow raspberries at each other. Stick their noses up and huff as if every defiant sound emitted added to their weightless arguments until they always reached the most recurring theme to finding their common ground: charity._

_“Can’t you just donate some of those plane models?”_

_“Can’t YOU donate some of your mini pots?”_

_“FINE then. I will! But only if you donate some of yours!”_

_“DEAL!”_

Madeline would pout and complain about her old hockey gear going to waste when it could go to a low income, orphaned kid, who can’t afford any hockey equipment at all--a kid similar to who Madeline and Amelia used to be. She’d also complain about her last few bottles of perfectly good pumpkin ale being left to expire. She’d whine about her red mug and maple leaf bookmarks not being distributed to Aunt Marianne and Aunt Rose to add on to their personal collections respectively. Most of all, she’d scold Amelia in the soft undertones of her comforts and reassurances for letting Madeline’s presence linger for too long. For holding on to her for too long. For keeping her around for too long.

Not because Madeline needs her introverted alone time away from Amelia’s extroverted energy, as Madeline would always remind Amelia, but because…

Because…

Amelia jumps when she hears her doorbell ring. She nervously reaches for her pepper spray and keeps her phone with the number 911 at the ready. Who in the world would knock on her door at 2 AM? As she tentatively creeps up to look through the peephole, she sees a familiar, pale figure fill her sight.

Anya?

Amelia drops the pepper spray on her small shoe stand and twists the door open.

Anya stands there dressed in nothing but hoodie and jeans. Her full, platinum blonde hair is tied back into a loose bun with long bangs framing her round face. Amelia has to blink to make sure she’s actually there. Anya’s gaze is tired but inquisitive. Her deep, blue eyes seem to sear holes into Amelia’s, rooting Amelia to her spot. Anya cocks her head. “Sorry, were you asleep?”

Amelia gets shaken out of her daze when the slightly Russian accented voice meets her ears. “No, I was actually up working.” 

Anya quirks a sympathetic smile. “Stories never stop, as you say?”

Amelia sighs. “Unfortunate for my sleeping schedule. Would you like to come in?”

“Oh! I don’t mean to intrude. I just wanted to come and say hi. That’s all,” Anya rushes out, sounding a bit out of breath.

Amelia surges forward, hand half reached out to Anya. “Wait! Uh…” She meets Anya’s deep, blue eyes again, causing her to stumble over her words. “You...just got off your flight, right? I know you’ll probably want to just, like, crash back at your apartment, but uhm, if you’d like, maybe some coffee to help with the jet lag?” The words come out unconvincing. Amelia is kicking herself for suggesting caffeine at ungodly hours of the morning to fix jet lag when that is definitely not how fixing jet lag works. She’s ready to force out a toothy smile and bash her head into the wall immediately after closing the door to forget this memory, but Anya simply says, “Yes! I would quite like that! I actually already dropped everything into a pile in my room and just wanted to come by before I collapsed into bed.” Amelia blushes at the taller girl’s admittance. She blames the late time of night and her tiredness for the implications that statement holds. “Only if you have tea, though, of course. I’m not like you coffee drinkers,” Anya chuckles. 

Amelia heaves an internal sigh of relief and lets out a weary laugh. “Thankfully, this caffeine addict has some stocked up somewhere in a corner collecting dust. It’ll be glad to finally get some fresher air. Come right on in!” A newfound giddiness lights up inside of Amelia. She pulls out her low table and has to swallow the knot in her throat when she sees familiar star and maple leaf designs carved onto the two legs that hold it up. Amelia switches her attention to Anya. “Would you prefer the VIP view of Harlem or the more humble but cozy center of the living space?”

The giggle Amelia earns from Anya puts a smile on Amelia’s face.

“I’ll take the window view. It has quite the romantic scenery!” Anya replies.

The corners of Amelia’s smile tug her on her cheeks until they hurt. “Reserved only for dashing, young hopeless romantic young ladies like you.”

“Like us,” Anya adds cheekily. 

Amelia has no idea how she doesn’t manage to spill some water out of the kettle as she makes tea with Anya’s presence, but she resists the urge to high five herself as the tea is successfully finished being made, before bringing a mug of the tea over to her company. As she sets Anya’s mug down, as well as her own coffee-filled one, she realizes Anya is sitting on her wooden flooring. “Oh! Lemme grab the cushions! Sorry to leave your butt sad and cold.” Amelia mentally adds another score to the number of times she has managed to impress Anya tonight when she sees Anya’s expression twinkle with amusement. As Amelia goes to retrieve two cushions from the shelf of an end table, a flash of a memory threatens to spill over her vision again--one of shopping trips, furniture hauls, and a ghastly dedication to Amelia’s and Madeline’s favorite shapes. Aunt Marianne’s high sense of fashion and design would have been appalled. 

Amelia’s subsequent chuckle under her breath is strained and fits oddly in her throat. Had there always been this many things to remind her of Madeline? How many times has she asked herself this?

The cushions do eventually make their way to the bottoms of Anya and Amelia after Amelia snaps herself out of her melancholy. For a while, they say nothing. Usually, Amelia would be itching to say something, but she finds that, for once, she doesn’t mind letting the hum of generators fill in the silence. Distant footsteps come and go from the hall outside of her apartment door. Another honk from the cars below reaches up to Amelia’s apartment window that she looks out of. She takes a glance at Anya, who seems to be absently doing the same. Amelia wonders what Anya is thinking. 

“Sometimes I wish I got an apartment on the top floor, but then I remember how much longer I’d have to wait to get down to the lobby. Increases the risk of meeting the crazies in this building,” Amelia says, leaning on the window frame.

“You and me both,” Anya replies with a puff of breath, a shadow of a smile appearing. Amelia stares. She notices it doesn’t disappear. Her eyes wander, realizing how creepy it probably looked to be gazing deeply into the other woman’s face. She finds her calendar on her wall, where the first day of autumn announces itself in black, Arial font. “First day of autumn is next week,” Amelia mentions quietly. “Which means next quarter will begin.” Amelia releases a deep sigh at the thought.

She looks back to see Anya still in the same position, eyes pointed out the window. The lights of the city illuminate her unreadable expression. “Have I ever told you autumn is my favorite season?”

It takes a second and two blinks for Amelia to register Anya has just spoken. Anya finally changes her position, her head turning towards Amelia. Amelia shakes her head. “Why?”

“There’s a personal story to it,” Anya begins. Amelia’s eyes rest on the other intently. “As a kid--when I still lived in Russia--I’d spend the majority of my summers at my grandfather Vanya’s farm. I loved spending my time with him, and he helped me grow a love for horticulture. No pun intended.”

Amelia and Anya meet eyes and both laugh at the pun, forgetting everything else exists for a fleeting second.

“Anyway, as fun as it was being with him, it would also get awfully boring at times. Stable power lines connected to the grid eventually reached my grandfather Vanya’s town in the mid-2000s, but when I was little, internet was still incredibly unreliable. It was barely even a town at that time, just a loose collection of farms and a small main street of general stores. That's how out in the country it was. I couldn’t communicate with my friends outside of writing letters, so I’d always be extremely excited once the first day of autumn came, and I could go home with a basket full of fresh berries that I picked with my Grandfather Vanya. Autumn meant celebration and fun. Autumn meant getting to see all my friends again. It meant bringing my basket full of berries to picnics with my friends. It meant watching the leaves change color every day. Meant daring one another to jump into icy, cold creeks and meant getting scolded by our parents for doing so and shoving us into layers of sweaters and coats. I guess…” Anya trails off. As Amelia listens to Anya, she discovers that she has returned to watching the scenes outside, though she isn’t focusing on the people walking below anymore. She isn’t observing the way the flow of traffic and crowds dance and slither around each other. She isn’t scanning the details of each building and lit window. Instead, she fights off the tears that well up in her eyes. She fights off the suffocating grasp in her chest. She fights off the memories that haunt her every day. She fights exhaustion she feels with this constant, internal conflict. Amelia hums, urging Anya to finish her statement, partially because Amelia is curious and partially because she wants a distraction from her thoughts.

“Autumn, for me, had always been a season of new beginnings and new hopes.”

_The day of Madeline's funeral was held on the first day of autumn that year. As her twin sister, Amelia had the job of organizing everything with Aunt Rose and Aunt Marianne, getting all the legal paper work out of the way and ensuring everything they wanted was communicated clearly to the funeral service company. Amelia remembers a small moment where she finally stopped to take in the reality unfolding in front of her. It was a clear and crisp morning. She took a breath, allowing herself to breathe for the first time in what felt like millennia. It had genuinely shocked Amelia when she saw just how many people showed up to Madeline’s funeral. It reminded her of something Aunt Marianne had told the two of them once after they had gotten into another fight when they were little._

_“Madeline keeps stealing my friends even though she never talks!”_

_“Am not! You already have enough friends. It’s not my fault your friends want to talk to me, too! And I do talk sometimes!”_

_“But they end up ignoring me for you even though you’re so boring!”_

_“It’s not like I want to talk to your friends! Some of my friends talk to you, too when they don’t want to talk to me anymore!”_

_“That’s why I don’t get why my friends want to talk to you! That’s probably why you’ve been stealing them from me!”_

_“No, I’m not! Maybe they just think you’re too loud sometimes!”_

_“That’s enough, Amelia! Madeline!” Aunt Rose stood up, hands placed firmly on her hips._

_Amelia opened her mouth to retort but was cut off by Aunt Marianne._

_“Darlings, neither of you are stealing friends from one another. Maybe your friends like both of you and that’s why they switch who they talk to sometimes?”_

_Amelia and Madeline had both frowned, now slowly turning their annoyances at their friends. “But why can’t my friends just stay away from Madeline’s friend group?” Amelia whined. Madeline had just scowled even further._

_“Amelia, you and Madeline are both wonderful girls in your own way. It’s not that you or Madeline is better than the other, but that people love to be friends with people who are different, who can make up where the other falters, just as much as people like being friends with people who are similar to them. Amelia, people love you for your energy and your want to always make people smile. Madeline, people love you for your calming presence and your ability to soothe people. Your friends both love the two of you, just for different reasons. Maybe the two of you should try being with each other more? That way it won’t seem like you two are stealing friends from one another. I’m sure if both of you are wonderful by yourselves, your friends will be blown away if the two of you could get along together.”_

_And the rest was history, Amelia supposed._

If Madeline were here, Amelia could almost see her sister sitting beside her and repeating Anya’s words in the quiet and appreciative way Madeline often did. She might even repeat it in her head, her eyes glossy, as if she were focusing her energy on committing those words to memory. Amelia would always know the process was done when Madeline would comment, “That sounds really nice.”

“It really was,” Anya laughs to herself. Amelia flinches, realizing she hadn’t even noticed she had thought Madeline’s last words out loud. Anya smiles at her, one filled with a warmth both familiar yet worlds apart from the kinds Amelia is familiar with. She feels her cheeks get hot and her heart palpitate. She could get used to this, Amelia thinks.

_Madeline was everywhere. That’s what it had felt like during the first year after Madeline’s death. And it was like that too when Amelia went to visit Madeline’s grave in the tranquil New York countryside on the first anniversary of her sister’s passing._

_That morning, Amelia had asked to go to the grave alone. There was no questioning from Aunt Rose and Aunt Marianne, just sympathetic eyes and understanding nods. With a bouquet of pacific dogwoods, western red lilies, white trilliums, purple violets, wild roses, prairie crocuses, blue flag irises, and mayflowers, Amelia barely remembers the walk to the cemetery. She only remembers that she felt a strange peace in the morning’s chill._

_When she had arrived at Madeline's grave, Amelia placed the flowers next to Madeline’s headstone and watered the small pot of yellow tulips next to it. She made herself comfortable on the patch of grass in front of the stone slab. Her gloved hands rested in the middle of her crisscrossed legs._

_MADELINE KIRKLAND_

_DEAREST SISTER AND DAUGHTER_

_"IF I EVER DIE EARLY, ADOPT A WILD POLAR BEAR. THAT’S THE ONLY ACCEPTABLE ANIMAL FOR MY SPIRIT TO EMBODY. WHETHER YOU TAME IT SUCCESSFULLY OR DIE TRYING, I’LL SEE YOU AGAIN."_

_July 1, 1996 — February 18, 2018_

_Amelia snorted. Madeline always had the more morbid sense of humor out of the two. Bird chirps surrounded Amelia as the sun steadily rose. A pair of cardinals chased one another around a neighboring maple tree. Amelia imagined the bird chirps were Madeline laughing at her own joke. She’d then lean on Madeline, sharing body heat to protect themselves against the autumn air’s crispness. She’d likely say something atrociously inappropriate like, ‘I guess, us youngsters would say, autumn will never hit right again.’ And Amelia would shove her._

_An icy breeze suddenly picked up. Amelia gasped, before airily guffawing. She remembers how crazy she felt when she had shouted, “Oh fuck you Madeline!” to no one but the transient breeze, the birds, and the fresh, autumn morning._

_Amelia didn’t know how long she spent sitting in front of Madeline’s grave that morning. She talked about anything and everything that came to her. She talked about college. She talked about careers. About love. About Aunt Rose and Aunt Marianne. She recounted childhood stories and childhood dreams. She laughed. She cried. She sang. And she joked before her last words with Madeline on that day. Even in the present, they echo loud and clear in Amelia’s mind._

_“I’ll get used to it,” Amelia had said._

_By that time, Amelia’s clothes had warmed under the morning glow despite the early, crisp chill. The sun had risen higher and higher, away from the horizon where it slumbered nightly. It felt as if Madeline had hugged her and comforted her the whole morning, and as a bright, red maple leaf floated down next to Amelia's feet, it reminded her of the life she needed to live. A life filled with Madeline. A life without Madeline. Amelia’s other half, gone, yet still always there._

_“Don’t worry about me too much, Maddie.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Currently in the mood to fling myself off the cliff because guess who decided to do editing in ao3, and then accidentally pressed the keyboard shortcut to reload the page when she was trying to turn down her screen brightness losing all progress? This monstrous idiot. Anyway, I'm finally back after the hella tumultuous ass kicking I've got from my junior year. Wanted to do a short fic to get myself back into the flow of writing, and this was created! Thanks for reading <3
> 
> still dead on all social media, but if you still want to try and find me:  
> Twitter: @UJinblossoms  
> Instagram: @suncovered.snow  
> Tumblr: @frenchblue32


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